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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25975309">Grasping at smoke</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/HazelMaeve/pseuds/HazelMaeve'>HazelMaeve</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Most of me, but not all [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, moomin - Fandom, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Comfort, Feral Snusmumriken | Snufkin, Gen, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, This is about more than just drugs lol, fellas, is it gay to stare longingly at your crush while he lights your pipe...?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:41:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,518</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25975309</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/HazelMaeve/pseuds/HazelMaeve</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Snufkin brings a little something back from his yearly travels south, and he figures he might as well share it with Moomin. It certainly seems his friend could use it.</p><p>In which Snufkin introduces Moomin to cannabis, and teaches him a thing or two about love, longing, and letting go.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mumintrollet | Moomintroll &amp; Snusmumriken | Snufkin, Mumintrollet | Moomintroll/Snusmumriken | Snufkin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Most of me, but not all [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1888015</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>55</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Fire and Smoke</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is based on the characters from the 1990s cartoon, rather than Moominvalley 2019. However, it can be read either way.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Along with its celebrations and seemingly endless days, Midsummer's Eve came with a certain sense of melancholy. Moomin wished the darkness would never encroach on his evenings, that the nights would stay blissfully short. By mid-July, however, he could no longer pretend that winter would never return.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snufkin, ever tactful, made no comment on the slowly shortening days. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Goodness, the days stay hot well on into the night, don’t they?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We have to stay up late in order to get a good look at the stars, huh, Moomin?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin appreciated the effort, but he knew Snufkin couldn’t stay forever. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The last day of July dawned bright and warm. Moomin awoke at first light, determined to enjoy every hour of daylight; when he looked out his bedroom window, he saw a small fire already blazing happily in the pit outside Snufkin’s tent. Excitement swelled in his heart, and Moomin pushed the latch and swung open his window.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He very nearly took Snufkin’s head off, who had been seconds away from knocking on the glass.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Whoa!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Sorry, Snufkin!” Moomin cried, reaching out to steady the hat perched atop Snufkin’s head. Snufkin smiled, and descended a few rungs on the ladder so Moomin could climb out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good morning, Moomin. I was just going to invite you to coffee.” Sharing coffee around a driftwood fire had become almost a daily ritual between Moomin and Snufkin, and Moomin could think of no better way to spend the morning. In truth, Snufkin’s coffee was much too strong for Moomin’s taste, and without a filter the ground beans stuck in his teeth. But he cared too much for that half-hour of Snufkin’s company to complain. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The grass was dewy beneath their feet as they crossed the lawn, whispering so as not to wake the house. The kettle was already boiling, and Snufkin scooped coarse-ground coffee into two chipped enamel mugs, filling each to the brim with steaming water from the stream. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks, S—“ Moomin began, but his friend’s name caught in his throat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snufkin took a long sip, watching Moomin over the top of his cup. His dark eyes matched the dregs of coffee floating about in Moomin’s mug. He slowly lowered his coffee and offered a soft smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Something wrong, Moomin?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “No.” Moomin picked at the bark of his log seat, dropping his gaze to the fire. “It’s just that, well… You’re, I mean, you’ll be—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Leaving,” Snufkin cut him off, still smiling. “But not for another three months.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin jumped slightly; was it really only three months? “I know. I just wish it could be spring forever.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, spring </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> nice,” Snufkin lilted, rubbing his thumb over the handle of his mug where the lacquer had worn away. “But don’t you like picking walnuts, and crabapples, and acorns? And eating pumpkin and squash and spiced teas? And what about when we collect pretty leaves and dip them in wax, so they last forever?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The words sounded far away and foreign on such a bright summer morning, and at the same time too close for comfort. “Yes, autumn is fine. But it’s like— it’s like—” Moomin did not have Snufkin’s gift of eloquence. “It’s like Midsummer. It’s a fun celebration, with the bonfire and the mead and the dancing, but you can’t forget that the short days are coming. They loom over you the whole time. That’s how autumn feels. Because soon you’ll be leaving.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snufkin was still watching him, but the smile was gone. “I think you might be thinking too far ahead, Moomin,” he said. “When I travel, I don’t think about the next week or the next day or even where I’ll sleep that night. I just take one step at a time and see where it leads me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin scowled. “Easy for you to say. You get to go on adventures in winter. I have to stay here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snufkin turned away, his eyes on the distant gray slopes of the mountains, and Moomin knew he had said too much. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think I know what you need, Moomin,” Snufkin said, suddenly smiling again. “You need an adventure. You and I.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin straightened, suddenly rapt. “Really?” He half-whispered. “Where will we go? Oh, can we go today?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Today. We’ll leave at noon. I have something I want to show you, far into the mountains.” Snufkin stood and dumped the remains of his coffee onto the fire, drowning it. “I know it’ll make you feel better.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin didn’t think he’d need it; he was feeling better already. “Oh! I’ll go and get ready!” He sprang to his feet, his fur bristling with excitement. He turned and made a dash for the house, but stopped in his tracks when he heard a shout.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Moomin!” Snufkin stood beside his tent, crouching in the act of pulling a stake from the ground. He held a slim yellow finger to his lips. “Hush, alright? Don’t tell them where we’re headed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Especially</span>
  </em>
  <span> not Little My.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wide-eyed, Moomin nodded, and began a hasty, though silent, retreat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Mama was breakfasting in the dining room when Moomin slipped through the door, and by the rich scent in the air, she had already made her own coffee. She turned at the sound of the door clicking shut, and Moomin was sorry to have disturbed her. Only in the earliest hours, before her family had risen, did Moominmama take time for herself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, Moomin, there you are. I figured you were already out with Snufkin.” Her eyes crinkled in a smile. “Have you eaten? Would you like to invite Snufkin to breakfast?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin hesitated; how much could he ask of her without revealing he and Snufkin’s intentions? Asking her for Papa’s backpack would be too obvious. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Channel Snufkin</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Actually, Mama… Do you know where our fishing basket is? I’d like to use it for a picnic.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mama’s brow wrinkled. “Hmm, the fishing basket? It’s your father’s, I suspect he knows better than I do… Oh, just a moment.” She got to her feet and went to the kitchen, Moomin scurrying after her. She went to the highest shelf, moving aside an old tin of sewing supplies and Grandma’s book of remedies; behind it was a dusty basket woven of willow branches with two shoulder straps. She stood on her tip-toes to reach it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s quite old, Moomin. Are you sure the picnic basket wouldn’t suffice?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin hefted the basket from her arms and shook his head. “Oh, no, Mama. See, we’re going, er, quite far. Down the shoreline, past the bathing house. We’re going to fish.” There. If Little My went looking for them, she’d search in the opposite direction he and Snufkin were planning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mama brightened at once. “Oh! A fishing trip! Well, why didn’t you say so?” She opened the ice box and began to search through it. “You ought to bring some sandwiches, a thermos with some lemonade, or perhaps tea… And a tackle box, of course. Will you be staying overnight?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin blinked; this was easier than he’d thought. “Er, yes, overnight… and I think Snufkin’s bringing all of the fishing supplies. I just need blankets and my knife. And those snacks you mentioned, of course…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They travelled southwest until they reached the sea, heading south along the beach until a bend in the shore hid them from sight. Then they did an about-face and started northeast into the mountains, on a smooth beaten track that eventually gave way to a rocky trail laced with roots. The fishing basket bumped against Moomin’s back, filled with foodstuffs and his bedroll and a few essential backwoods supplies. Moomin thrummed with excitement. Two whole days and a full night with Snufkin, with nothing to interrupt them or divert Snufkin’s attention. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can hear the stream,” Snufkin called over his shoulder, pointing ahead. “Just over the rise. We’ll follow it for three miles. Then we’ll turn hard north!” He was shouting by now over the noise from the river. Here, the peaceful stream that meandered through Moominvalley was a torrent of white water, tumbling over green boulders slippery with moss. Moomin breathed deeply, the damp scent seeming to wash away the summer dust that had gathered in his lungs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The trail followed the river on a narrow ledge that seemed liable to crumble into the water with every step. At the shallowest point they waded across in cold water up to their hips. Only when it was over could Moomin relax, but his reprieve was short-lived. A nearly vertical climb awaited them on the opposite shore. Moomin huffed along a good three yards behind Snufkin, who stopped every so often to offer encouragement.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not far now, Moomin, come on!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can do it, Moomin. Feel that cold air? We’re getting close!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin was about ready to tell him to can the pep talks when the trail suddenly flattened. Relieved, Moomin raced ahead, grateful their ascent was over.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, thank the Buble! I thought it’d never—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stopped. Stretched out before him was a long, narrow lake, so shallow and crystal clear he could see straight down to the rocky bottom, even in the fading light. It was surrounded by a rolling meadow of golden summer grass; at the top of the rise, not far from where Moomin stood, was the caved-in remains of a decrepit cabin. Near the shore was a stone fire pit with grass sticking up between the rocks, long unused. The sky was painted purple and blue, the remains of a sun recently set.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin could only stare. He barely heard Snufkin come up behind him, and only turned when he felt a cool hand on his shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is a special place I found on my way here. I thought you’d like to see it.” His face was gentle and shone like the sun. Moomin could have fainted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, Snufkin…” Moomin shook his head. “It’s incredible here!” He followed Snufkin down the hill to the lakeshore and dipped his paws into the water. “You were right. I feel better already!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm?” Snufkin swung his backpack off his shoulders and dropped it beside the fire pit, then began to rummage inside. “Oh, well, that’s good. But this isn’t what I wanted to show you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin spun around. “What is it, then?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snufkin began to pick dried twigs and pinecones from the grass, dragging larger pieces of driftwood up from the shore. A small smile grew on his face. “You’ll see.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin looked out across the lake at the darkening sky and wrung his paws. Behind him, Snufkin lit the fire with a strike of his knife. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come and sit down, Moomin.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin did. It was only in the firelight that he noticed Snufkin was holding his pipe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snufkin settled himself on the grass beside the fire, rummaging through his pocket for a moment before pulling out a small canvas sack that usually held tobacco. When the drawstring was undone, however, a pungent green smell met Moomin’s snout, and he knew it was not Snufkin’s ordinary dokha.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is that, Snufkin?” Moomin demanded, resisting the temptation to cover his nose. “It’s making my eyes water.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I got it during my winter travels,” Snufkin said covertly, taking a pinch and stuffing it into the end of his pipe. “I was far south, where the people live in houses stacked one atop the other, and the winters are so warm and wet, just taking a breath is like a sip of hot tea.” He put the pipe in his mouth and took a stick from the fire to light it, taking a long pull and letting a thin stream of smoke pass through his lips. “It makes you feel better. It’ll make all your winter worries seem miles away.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin stared. Snufkin looked almost ethereal in the firelight, surrounded by a cloud of smoke with fireflies dancing behind him. Almost as an afterthought, he took the pipe from his mouth and smiled beautifully. “Of course, it’s only if you want to. You don’t have to try it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>An army couldn’t have kept Moomin from taking the pipe from Snufkin’s outstretched hand; he wouldn’t say no to that face for anything. He brought the stem to his lips, then hesitated; the smoke from the bowl met his nose and he recoiled, nervous. He’d taken a draw from Snufkin’s pipe before, only once, and it left him sick to his stomach.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Will it really help? Or will it make me nauseous?” Moomin asked suspiciously, glancing between the pipe and Snufkin’s face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snufkin shook his head. “This plant cures nausea, and headaches, and anything else you might complain of. I’m surprised it’s not in your Grandma’s book of remedies. Now, look, the coal has gone out! Let me light it, and then you have to take a hit, quick.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He leaned in close, his face mere inches from Moomin’s, and cupped his hand around the bowl to shield it from wind. Moomin’s fur bristled as blood rushed to his cheeks, and his paw shook as he raised the pipe to his mouth. Snufkin pressed the burning tip of a twig to the pipe’s contents, which began to smoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Inhale slow. Like you’re sipping water.” Snufkin’s voice was husky. “Mix it with air from your nose, and it won’t burn so much.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin did as he was told, and just at that moment, he lifted his eyes to Snufkin’s face. Snufkin was watching him, the same way he watched a sunrise or an approaching thunderstorm, his eyes burning in the light of the fire. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The smoke tasted of grass, with an undercurrent of sweetness. Try as he might to prolong the moment, Moomin began to choke. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turned and coughed hard into his paw, until his chest ached and tears came to his eyes. He felt Snufkin’s hand on his back, the only source of stability as the world swirled around him. Finally his lungs cleared, and he spit into the grass, breathing hard. His face felt very warm—from coughing, he thought—but even when he sat up and wiped his mouth, his skin still burned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I feel… w-a-arm,” Moomin warbled, and Snufkin’s face split into a grin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your eyes are the size of the moon!” He said, with a laugh like bells. “It’s normal to feel warm. What else do you feel? Would you believe me if I told you your eyes are redder than the fire?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin tried to look cross, but the sound of Snufkin’s musical laugh quite quelled his anger. He thought for a moment, but he found he wasn’t feeling much of anything. Just… light, and soft, and slightly dizzy, as though he were standing on the deck of a swaying ship. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know, I feel… Good, I guess.” As he said it, Moomin realized it was true. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Really</span>
  </em>
  <span> good. Like…” He glanced up, and froze in place. “Oh, Snufkin…The stars are </span>
  <em>
    <span>beautiful…</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snufkin rolled onto his back, unable to hold in his amusement, then sat up just as quickly and reached for the pipe. “Hold on, let me get in on this…” He set the pipe between his teeth and took a long, measured draw, so long it seemed he’d suffocate. Moomin made a grab for his arm, missed entirely, and fumbled to take hold of Snufkin’s smock.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Snufkin, stop! Snufkin, breathe!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snufkin exhaled in a burst of laughter, sputtering so the coal in the pipe winked and went out. “Moom—” He choked. “Moomin, I know how to smoke a pipe! Better than you can!” He nudged Moomin’s shoulder, barely tapped it, really, and it sent Moomin sprawling. By now they were both breathless with smoke and hilarity. Nothing had ever been funnier in Moomin’s life, it seemed, than the sight of Snufkin red-faced and hatless, searching the grass for the coal that had fallen from the pipe. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Help me find it, Moomin, stop laughing!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Snufkin, we have more! A whole bag full!” He pointed to the canvas sack lying forgotten on a rock. Snufkin did a double-take, and snatched up the bag as though it were gold.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Moomin! There’s so much in here!” He cried, as Moomin rolled in the grass, howling with laughter. “Where did you get this— No, wait. This is mine!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop it! Stop it! I can’t take any more!” Moomin wailed. “You’re too silly, Snufkin— Hey, refill the pipe! It’s empty!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snufkin managed to stop laughing long enough to load the pipe, though his hands shook plenty. He lit it with a puff, then passed the pipe to Moomin with much ceremony.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin accepted the pipe with a dreamy smile. “I love this,” he said contentedly. It was mid-toke when his own words caught up with him, and he choked, pulling the stem from his mouth and coughing. “That’s not— I mean—” His voice was a croak. “I mean, the pipe. I love smoking. The pipe. With you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snufkin accepted the pipe back, seemingly unperturbed. “Me too,” he said fondly. “I told you it would make you feel better.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do feel better,” Moomin admitted. “Much better.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snufkin stretched out on the grass, his arms folded behind his head, the pipe stem clenched between his teeth. Moomin copied him, and together they watched the stars, side by side, a ribbon of smoke twined around them. Snufkin blew a smoke ring into the air and smiled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I feel better, too.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Ashtray</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The sound of rain drumming on the roof kept Moomin awake. Thunder rumbled in the distance, mixing with the sound of crashing waves and trees creaking in the wind. The air crackled with electricity. A bolt of lightning made the panes of his window rattle; Moomin rolled over and pulled his pillow over his head. Late summer often brought violent storms, but he could not remember one so loud, nor so long. Snufkin had set up his tent on the veranda in preparation for the rain, and yet Moomin could not help but wonder if he were staying dry. Somewhere outside, a tree fell. The wind chimes screamed. The roof shingles clanged like piano keys.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, over the roar of the wind, a new sound: the small, hurried </span>
  <em>
    <span>tap-tap-tap</span>
  </em>
  <span> of cold fingers on glass. Moomin bolted upright and turned to the window; a flash of lightning revealed the silhouette of a thin figure in a pointed hat. Scrambling out of bed, Moomin hurried to the window and pushed it open with some difficulty, as the wind was trying its best to push it closed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A sodden Snufkin clambered over the sill and dropped silently to the floor, reaching over to help Moomin haul the window shut. Moomin hurried to find a candle, nearly slipping in the puddle of rainwater that had accompanied Snufkin into the room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hold on— Oh, where are those matches…” Moomin managed to light the candle, the flame sputtering for a moment in the dark before steadying. Only when he had covered it with a hurricane glass, suffusing the room in an amber glow, was he able to get a proper look at his guest. Snufkin was drenched from head to foot, the brim of his hat drooping, his scarf a limp shred around his neck. “Snufkin, what happened? I thought you were sleeping on the veranda?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I was…” Snufkin removed his hat and set it on the windowsill, where it left a snaking trail of water down to the floor. “But the wind blew my tent so hard I had to sleep on top of it, and then a hole opened in the roof overhead and doused me…” He turned to Moomin and grinned to show he was no worse for wear. “I guess the Fates really didn’t want me to sleep on the porch, hmm?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin shook his head in wonder. “I can’t remember a storm like this… Oh, your clothes are soaked, Snufkin!” He went to the hook behind his door where he hung his bath towel each evening, and tossed it in Snufkin’s direction. “You can roll them up in that. You want me to go and look around for something you could put on?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snufkin, who had been rubbing his hair dry, emerged from beneath the towel and shook his wild head. “No, no need to wake the house on my account. It’s just my coat and my shirt, really.” He unraveled his scarf, then reached behind him and yanked his smock over his head. Beneath it he wore a shirt of tattered white linen with black wool suspenders. He wriggled his shoulders so his suspenders fell to his waist, unbuttoned his shirt with practiced ease, and shrugged out of it so it joined his coat on the floor. He was thin and pale and </span>
  <em>
    <span>hairless</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Moomin registered with shock; his damp skin shone in the candlelight, bare save for a carpet of orange fur on his forearms. His soaked boots came off next, revealing slender feet brown from the sun, his heels tough as leather.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin made himself busy preparing a pallet of blankets on the floor, his face very hot. Behind him Snufkin bundled his wet clothes into the towel and shoved it beneath Moomin’s bed. “Well, Moomin,” he began, slipping his suspenders back on, “I reckon I could do with a smoke.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Startled, Moomin shook his head. “We can’t bring tobacco in here. The smell sticks to everything!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not tobacco,” Snufkin said, rummaging in his trouser pocket. “Anyway, we’ll just open the window a crack.” He held up a little canvas bag that Moomin recognized instantly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh!” Moomin took an unbidden step forward, then paused. “Is it really okay? The smell is pretty strong, you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snufkin produced his pipe and cleaned the bowl with his thumb. “Everyone is asleep, right? And with the window open the smell will get carried away quick.” He went to the window and opened it a few inches; outside, the rain had become a steady, soaking shower, the wind dying down to a low hum. Snufkin took a deep breath, his expression content. “I love the smell of the rain.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin joined him and inhaled deeply the rich wet scent. “Me too. It makes the world smell brand-new.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snufkin settled himself on the floor with his elbows resting on the windowsill and motioned for Moomin to do the same. He untied the canvas pouch and took out a fuzzy green lump, which he began to break into tiny pieces, tucking them into the pipe bowl. The smell was more pleasant than Moomin remembered, sweet and heedy, somewhere between blueberries and freshly cut grass. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fetch me a—” Snufkin paused when Moomin promptly held up the pack of matches. He accepted them with a smile. “Somebody’s eager, hmm?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin looked away, embarrassed. “Well, I- I didn’t see a reason to delay anything…” Snufkin laughed around the pipe clenched between his teeth, and lit a match with a flick of his wrist. He went to light the bowl, then hesitated, took the pipe from his mouth, and held it in Moomin’s direction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you like to do the honors?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alarmed, Moomin could only shake his head. “Oh, I wouldn't know what I’m doing. Better for you to light it, Snufkin.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmmf.” Snufkin waved the match out, got to his feet, and went to retrieve the candle. He brought it to the window and set it on the floor between them, then used it to re-light the stub of the match. “There. Now you can have as many tries as you want. I’ll help you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snufkin showed him how to steady the pipe between his teeth with one hand and light it with the other. “This is called the char light,” he said, leaning close to cup his hands around the bowl. “I’ll shield it from the wind. When you’re ready, you put the flame right up to the leaves, and inhale at the same time, the way I showed you before.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Here we go again,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Moomin thought, as he found himself once again nose-to-snout with Snufkin. He tried to focus on the task at hand, and ignore the way Snufkin’s soft breath rustled his fur as he brought the flame to the bowl. He took a tentative breath, tasted nothing, tried again, and was this time rewarded when the match flame seemed to lean down to kiss the crumbled leaves, which began to glow red. One second, two, three— he shoved the pipe away and coughed as quietly as he could into his fur.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well done, Moomin,” Snufkin said, bringing the pipe to his own lips and taking a long draw. “There’s a jumble of varieties in this bag here, I wonder which one we got? Tastes like an indy…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin braced his paws against the floor and shook his head to clear it, heat building up beneath his skin. “Wh… What’s an indy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snufkin exhaled and offered the pipe to Moomin. “It means </span>
  <em>
    <span>indica.</span>
  </em>
  <span> A type of plant. Makes you relaxed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin found his grip was not nearly as shaky as it had been the very first time he’d smoked, back on that warm, clear night in July. “Ooh, I think I like this better…” The smoke was smoother somehow, less harsh, and when he blew out a ribbon of smoke he felt lighter than air. “I just want to listen to the rain…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Couldn’t agree more,” Snufkin sighed, and rested his chin on the window ledge, watching the silvery curtain of rain outside. Snufkin’s attention diverted, Moomin took the opportunity to study him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Funny creatures, Mumriks. Snufkin was the only one Moomin had ever known, and yet from what he had heard they were not the most civilized creatures. Nor were they particularly known for their looks. But Snufkin was </span>
  <em>
    <span>beautiful</span>
  </em>
  <span>— his skin, polished by wind and sand, shone like a pearl in the candlelight. There were freckles on the lower half of his face, his jaw and the very tip of his nose, stopping above his cheeks where his hat offered shade. His hair was thick and rumpled and stook out at odd angles from the toweling, Truly, he looked wild. Then he turned to Moomin, dark eyes narrowing in a smile, and held out his hand for the pipe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh!” Moomin took the pipe from his mouth and passed it to Snufkin, who took a puff without wiping off the stem. He peered into the bowl, looked around the room, and turned to Moomin imploringly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you got something to ash this in? A cup or a waste basket? He pointed to the grey crumbs that coated the bottom of the pipe. “It’s dead. Wanna refill?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin’s tired brain was slow on the uptake. “Ash?” He thought for a moment. An ashtray. He didn’t have one of those. He got to his feet and went to his dresser, picking up a large clamshell he had found on the beach. Or had Snufkin found it and given it to him? Yes, he was sure it was from Snufkin. He set it down and reached for a smaller one, one he’d picked himself. “Will this work?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snufkin took the shell with a nod, then set it on the windowsill and knocked the pipe’s contents into it. “You’re fond of that other shell, aren’t you?” He didn’t turn around as he spoke.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin started. “Oh? Oh. Yes. It’s one of my favorites. I didn’t want any ashes in it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snufkin took a pinch of leaf and stuffed it into the pipe. “Snorkmaiden would be happy you’re so considerate. The ashes might have ruined it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin frowned as Snufkin brought the pipe to his lips and lit up. “Snorkmaiden?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course. She gave you that shell, after all.” He exhaled, eyes still on the window, his voice nonchalant. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin blanched beneath his fur. Of course; the pink one was from Snorkmaiden. The white one he’d handed Snufkin had been a gift from </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Without thinking, Moomin snatched the shell back. “Don’t use that one!” Moomin cried. “I— I couldn’t see it well, in the dark. I don’t want it ruined. Dump the ashes on the windowsill, I can clean up later.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turned and stormed back to the dresser, tears prickling in his eyes. How could he have been so </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He’d hurt Snufkin, he was sure of it. Moomin set the shell down gingerly in its place. Behind him, Snufkin spoke.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s only a shell, Moomin.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> just a shell!” Moomin whirled around, whisper-shouting. “You gave it to me!” He slumped suddenly. “Why didn’t you say something?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because, I figured if you didn’t mind, I shouldn’t, either.” Snufkin eyed the pipe, then set it aside with a soft sigh. He leaned back against the wall and crossed one ankle over the other, resting his head on the sill so the wind ruffled his hair. “I’m pretty tired, Moomin. Why don’t we sleep, huh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin trudged to his bed and sank wearily onto his mattress. “Will you be comfortable there?” A stupid thing to ask; Snufkin slept outside every night of his life. A warm bedroom floor would be luxury to him. But to Moomin’s surprise, Snufkin turned and crawled to the bed of blankets that Moomin had laid beside his bed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We ought to air these blankets out tomorrow.” Snufkin said, unclipping his suspenders and settling on his back, his arms folded behind his head. “Not on the veranda, though, with the hole.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin slowly laid down on his side, his eyes on Snufkin’s profile. “Papa will fix it,” he mumbled. “Then you can sleep on the veranda, next time there’s a storm.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snufkin yawned and turned onto his side. He pulled the quilt up over his bare shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“To be honest, I think I’d rather sleep here.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>FYI, Moomin is around 14 in this story, Snufkin about 15. They also don't exist, so if you're a real 14 year old don't go picking up a smoking habit because of this story.</p>
<p>As always, tell me what you think, what you liked, and what I can do better!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Sparks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Y'all, this chapter... It killed me... This is where the 'angst' tag comes in</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The smell of September was in the air. Moomin was beginning to panic each time he spotted a new orange leaf on the maple trees at the forest’s edge. He hated these fall feelings, he hated orange leaves and September smells, and he hated even more that Snufkin seemed not to mind them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a restlessness in him these days that always came with autumn. Moomin would often go to his tent in the mornings and find him gone, off tumbling in a meadow somewhere or paddling about in a lake, returning late in the afternoon with a bucket of fish and pocketfuls of green walnuts. He was stocking up for his long walk south when food would be scarce.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was still friendly as can be. But his mind was elsewhere.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin, on the other hand, was torn between clingling to Snufkin’s arm and giving him the cold shoulder. He could not help the icy bitterness he felt when he saw Snufkin engaged in preparations to leave. Some days, it seemed Snufkin could not wait to be gone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin woke one gray, cool morning to the sound of rain dripping from the eaves. Showers were becoming more frequent. He rolled over and swung his legs over the side of the bed, trudging to the window to see if Snufkin was up yet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snufkin’s tent was gone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Panic stabbed through Moomin’s heart and he bolted for the door, half-falling down the stairs and skidding to a stop in the living room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mama! Did Snufkin—?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stopped. Snufkin was sitting at the dining table with a steaming cup of coffee between his hands, conversing with Moominmama and pretending to ignore Little My’s attempts to get inside the coffee pot. He looked up upon Moomin’s explosive entrance. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi, Moomin,” Snufkin said, just as natural as ever. “There was quite a rain last night, didja hear it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moominmama turned around in her seat and smiled. “Good morning, Moomin dear. Would you like to have coffee with us?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin slowly made his way to the table, looking between the two of them in confusion. “Yes, thanks, Mama,” he murmured, and Mama stood and went to get another cup. Moomin sat down across from Snufkin and watched him slowly sip his drink.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Er— Where’s your tent, Snufkin?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Without setting down his cup, Snufkin jabbed his thumb in the direction of the front door, where his green tarp lay in a crumpled wet pile atop a couple of towels. When he lowered his coffee, there was a stain above his lip. “Rained so hard, it soaked through the waterproofing,” he said genially. “I got wet again. I came in here and slept under the table.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Little My popped up from the coffee pot. “I found him at five in the morning, curled up in a little fuzzy ball on the floor. I thought a bobcat had wandered in!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snufkin smiled. “Is that why you screamed?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I did not scream!” Little My insisted, her face turning red. “I shouted, to try and scare it off!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, is the coffee pot empty?” Moominmama had returned with two extra espresso cups, and spotted Little My in the pot. “Out please, Little My, so I can refill it!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My grumbled and clambered her way out of the pot, marching across the table and plunking down into a chair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your coat should be dry in a few minutes, Snufkin, I’ve got it hanging near the kitchen fire,” Moominmama said brightly, setting a cup in front of Moomin and Little My each. “And are you sure you wouldn’t like me to repair your suspenders for you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin only just noticed that one of Snufkin’s suspenders was cut clean through, the right shoulder of his shirt recently mended. He caught Moomin looking and smiled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A branch fell on my tent,” he said wryly. “Had to fight my way out of it. Ripped a hole in my tarp. Moominmama was kind enough to repair my shirt.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before Moomin could react to this disturbing bit of news, Snufkin turned to Mama and continued, “Thank you, but I can do the rest. I have strong thread for canvas and wool and such.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>A branch fell on my tent.’</span>
  </em>
  <span> It had ripped the canvas and his shirt. What if it had ripped his skin? What if he hadn’t been steps away from Moominhouse, but miles out in the wilderness with no one to help? Moomin was suddenly hit with the reality that Snufkin’s travels were not leisurely hikes, but a constant battle with the elements and the terrain. Was solitude really so important to him that he would risk his life for it? Would he really rather suffocate in his own tent, pinned beneath a fallen branch, than stay here with Moomin?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snufkin getting to his feet startled Moomin from his anxious reverie. “Well, the rain hasn’t helped much, but salmon season is starting and I’d like a go at it. Want to come, Moomin?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Er… come where?” He tried to pull together the loose strings of Snufkin’s sentence, like the cord of a drawstring bag. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fishing, of course!” Snufkin said. He went to the door where his fishing pole leaned against the wall. “Thank you for coffee and the warm floor to sleep on, Moominmama. I’ll come by for my tent when it’s dry and see how bad the damage is.” He turned to Moomin. “Coming?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin scrambled up from his chair and followed Snufkin out the door. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>The river was high when they reached its banks. They followed it east to the forest’s edge, where the meadow had been turned into a muddy plain, tree stumps uprooted and grasses flattened by the torrent of water. Snufkin hung his backpack on a dead tree near the river’s edge and rummaged through it for his lure and sinker. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Atlantic salmon swim upstream each fall to lay their eggs,” Snufkin said, smiling as he threaded his hook. “They only live for a few days or weeks after that. They’re fattest this time of year— taste the best, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Plunk.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He cast his line out into the middle of the rapids. Moomin eyed the little rubber float, swaying like a buoy on the sea. He wondered if the rivers were deep, where Snufkin was going.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re awful quiet these days, Moomin,” Snufkin observed. “Is there something bothering you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin turned and stared at him. Was that supposed to be a joke? What did Snufkin </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span> was bothering him? “Autumn’s coming,” he said flatly. “I haven’t really been in the mood for talking much.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snufkin hummed skeptically. “Well, that doesn’t make much sense. I’d take every opportunity to enjoy summer while it lasts, if I were you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>That’s not what you’d do,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Moomin thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’ve been busy getting ready to leave like autumn is already here. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He couldn’t say that, though, so he only shrugged. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snufkin shifted, holding his pole between his knees and rifling through his pockets. “Would you like a smoke?” He pulled out his pipe and a sodden pack of matches. “It might help, a little bit.” He held the canvas bag out in Moomin’s direction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Moomin only continued to glower at him, standing stiffly with his arms crossed, Snufkin sighed and turned back to the river. “Moomin, I’m going to miss you, too. But for now, I’m still here. Can’t we enjoy this time together instead of dreading the time when it will end?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At this, Moomin softened a bit, and went to sit on the bank by Snufkin’s side. “I’ll smoke if you do,” he said, holding out his paw. Snufkin looked gratified and presented him the pipe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It almost felt natural now, Moomin thought. The pipe fit nicely in his paws and smelled like summer. Snufkin loaded the pipe and struck a match, leaning forward to light the bowl. He held Moomin’s gaze as he did so, and Moomin did not look away as he took a careful draw of smoke. Neither of them leaned away, even after Snufkin had lowered his hands. Moomin held the smoke in for a moment, then blew it out gently in Snufkin’s face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snufkin laughed and rubbed his eyes. “Hey!” Moomin grinned and inhaled another lungful, imagining it filling every corner until he felt light as air. He passed the pipe to Snufkin who took a long pull, smiling around the stem in his mouth, then breathed the smoke out through his nose like a dragon. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The fishing pole suddenly bobbed, and Snufkin jumped to his feet, tugging sharply so the hook swung up in the air. It was no more than a small branch, tangled in the line. Snufkin </span>
  <em>
    <span>tsk</span>
  </em>
  <span>ed and sat down to detangle it with a frustrated growl. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The current’s too strong, they aren’t biting! All I’ve caught today and yesterday is flood debris!” He picked a knot out of the line and tossed it back into the water. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin’s brow wrinkled. “Why don’t you use bait?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wouldn’t work. Salmon don’t care much for food this time of year.” The pipe bobbed up and down as he spoke. He sighed and tilted his face up to the sky. “If I don’t catch enough and get them dried in time, it’ll be a hungry winter.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once again, the subject of winter sent Moomin’s stomach plummeting. Any pleasant feelings brought about by the pipe were swept away on the tide of Snufkin’s words. Storms, fallen branches and ruined tents, and now the possibility of starvation? If there was ever a time Moomin wished Snufkin could be persuaded to stay, that time was now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I tell you something, Snufkin?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snufkin turned, taking the pipe from his mouth and adjusting the pole between his knees. “Oh? A secret?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Er— not exactly…” Moomin began to trace in the dirt with one tiny claw, circles and squares and stars. “It’s nothing you haven’t heard before.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snufkin hummed in consideration and rolled his shoulders in a shrug. “Well, you can tell me, if you need to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin blew out a frustrated breath and dug his heels into the sand. “It’s just, I mean… I don’t want to sound selfish!” He tossed his paws up in the air. “And I know you don’t mean to make me feel that way, but I </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> feel like I’m being selfish with you!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Moomin, what are you—“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t want you to go,” Moomin blurted, turning to Snufkin imploringly. The pipe had loosened his tongue and he was no longer above begging. “More than ever, I don’t want to see you leave. And it doesn’t matter if you wait until I’m asleep. Just knowing you won’t be here when I wake up—” He stopped before his voice could break.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snufkin stared, the pipe sitting forgotten in his hand, long gone out. “Well, that’s not necessarily true, Moomin,” he lilted. He was using his placating voice. His pacifying-Moomin voice. “If I come back before the first day of Spring like last year, then—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It didn’t work,” Moomin said miserably, resting his snout on his knees. “I woke up in the middle of January. I couldn’t get back to sleep. I was alone for days.” The memory seared across his mind’s eye, the desolate white landscape, the terrible silence of the house. “Even having Too-ticky for company didn’t help. Because I wasn’t just lonely, it’s because I was missing you!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s because of you! Because of you! Because of you!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now, wasn’t that selfish?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin buried his face in his paws. He did not dare to look in Snufkin’s direction. The other boy didn’t speak, and Moomin couldn’t help but continue. “I know it’s not fair for me to say that. I know why you have to go. I do.” Beside him, he heard Snufkin get to his feet, and still Moomin talked on. If Snufkin was going to storm away forever, Moomin at least wanted him to hear this. “I know our friendship is a compromise. You need to be free, and I need you. But friendship isn’t supposed to be a transaction! If I tell you I need you, how can you pretend not to hear?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A violent crash and a spray of water on his fur made Moomin jump and look up. Snufkin had hurled a rock into the river. Where it hit the water, a stream of bubbles rose, and a fish floated to the surface, dead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“How can you say that?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Snufkin stood on the rise above him, glaring down at Moomin with a terrible fire in his eyes. He pointed a sharp finger in Moomin’s face, his arm shaking. “You’re nature is to hibernate, mine is to wander. How can you </span>
  <em>
    <span>blame me</span>
  </em>
  <span> for disrupting your nature, and then try and do the same to mine?” Snufkin backed up, fumbling behind him for his backpack. He seemed a tree ready to blow down, and yet his teeth were bared as though ready for a fight. “You just said our friendship isn’t a transaction! Is staying for two-thirds of the year not enough for you? I don’t do it for the scenery, I do it because you want me to! You can have some of me, Moomin, but not all!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His voice, normally deep and smooth and unabashed, broke like a wave in a storm, a roar and a cry. Snufkin snatched up his bag and took off, his thin form shrinking with distance until he vanished amongst the trees. His fishing pole lay forgotten in the mud.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin remained where he was, crouched on the riverbank with his arms wrapped tight around him, still staring at the place where Snufkin had disappeared. He had never seen such a look on Snufkin’s kind face, nor heard such ferocity— such agony— in his voice. Slowly, Moomin turned to the river. The dead fish began its slow drift downstream to the ocean, a gash above its gills from Snufkin’s strike. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It could have been an hour or a full day and night before Moomin got to his feet and headed for home, the fishing pole grasped in his paw. He could not remember how he got back, only that his feet ached and his eyes stung from smoke and tears.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>A procession greeted him when he stepped through the front door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moominmama and Papa and Little My and Sniff and Snorkmaiden, seated in the living room looking stiff and solemn. Five heads snapped around when Moomin entered, and he didn’t have the energy to be surprised or suspicious. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” He sighed wearily, leaning the fishing pole against the wall and trudging to the tea table where the remains of a cold lunch sat. Mama and Papa exchanged worried looks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is everything alright, Moomin?” Mama began quietly, her voice laced with concern. “You don’t seem yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Snufkin was just here,” Papa said, folding his arms across his chest and eyeing Moomin critically. “He stormed in all of a sudden and grabbed his tarp, then said he’d be out for a while.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you break up?” Little My interjected, but the dark look on her face belied her tone. She was as serious as the rest.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> need this right now, or ever. He had hoped to slip unnoticed up to his room and sleep for ten hours, at least. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did something happen?” Sniff’s voice was grating. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Was there a fight?” Snorkmaiden’s was shrill. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please tell us, Moomin. We’ve all been very worried.” Even Moominmama was meddling in his business.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look, it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Moomin shouted suddenly, his voice uncharacteristically harsh. “It doesn’t matter, okay!?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A stunned silence greeted this. He had never, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever </span>
  </em>
  <span>raised his voice to Moominmama like this. Snorkmaiden looked wounded. Little My shook her head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Moomin,” Papa said, his voice a warning. “I don’t want to hear you talk to your mother like that again, do you hear me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moominmama looked unperturbed. She got to her feet and went silently to Moomin’s side, placing a gentle paw on his shoulder. “Why don’t you go upstairs, dear, and rest,” she whispered. “Papa and I will be here to listen, if you need us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘You can tell me, if you need to.’</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin’s eyes welled with tears afresh. “Thank you, Mama,” he said softly, then looked around at the others. None of them wore looks of anger; only quiet support. The fact hit him harder than ever; he had a family to come home to when he needed comfort. Snufkin had only the forest, had only himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Later, lying in bed near midnight, he kept straining his ears for the sound of a knock at the window. It never came.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Moomin is a Cancer and Snufkin is an Aries and it really shows</p>
<p>Please leave a comment and let me know what you think :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Embers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was all of the following day and most of the next before Snufkin came back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t knock on the window or play his harmonica from the grass to get Moomin’s attention. He did it in the most un-Snufkin-like manner possible: he came through the front door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin was sitting at the table, listlessly watching his father try to repair a fire iron that had been bent when he’d left it in the coals overnight. The living room was filled with the sound of metal-on-metal and muffled curses every time Moominpapa accidentally hammered his paw. The front door creaked open; there was a pause, then it clicked shut. Thinking it was Sniff, Moomin did not look up. But Moominpapa suddenly stopped his work and turned to the door, wiping his snout and leaving behind a smudge of black soot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, er… Hello.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello, Moominpapa.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin’s head jerked up at the sound of Snufkin’s voice. He stood matter-of-factly in the middle of the rug, his stance wide and his hands clasped behind his back. His expression was earnest, slightly anxious, and his eyes never left Moomin’s. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was wondering if Moomin would like to go for a walk.” It was directed at Moominpapa but he watched Moomin as he spoke. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin was frozen, his eyes roving over Snufkin’s face for any clue as to his intentions. Moominpapa looked back and forth between the two of them curiously. “Yes, I think that’s a fine idea,” Papa said slowly. “Moomin? I can do this. Why don’t you get some fresh air, with Snufkin?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin got slowly to his feet and took a few steps forward, stopping with a yard between them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s go,” he said quietly. “Before the night comes.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Snufkin led them on a straight and narrow path to the sea. They didn’t talk along the way; they walked side by side, close enough to brush shoulders, but the distance between them yawned a mile wide. Only when Moomin began to hear the waves did he break the silence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We didn’t go to the sea much this year,” he said, then wondered if he sounded bitter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s been an odd summer,” Snufkin admitted. “But the sea will always be here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Next year,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Moomin wished Snufkin would add, but he didn’t.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sand was still warm from the sun, now hidden behind an approaching cloud bank on the horizon. Snufkin bent down to unlace his boots and walked barefoot alongside Moomin, the waves sweeping up and washing away their footprints as they walked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve been thinking, Moomin,” Snufkin said suddenly. “About what you said. About what </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> said.” He nudged a tiny crab out of their path with his toe and watched it scitter away into the water. “How it wasn’t fair of you to ask me to stay. I was angry. Not at you; just at everything. The Fates decided to give me a best friend who needs more of me than I’ve ever given.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin’s heart dropped at this. He dreaded the next words he was sure would come.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then I thought, well, maybe it’s better that way. If you were exactly like me and never challenged what I did, I would never grow. Water that doesn’t flow, stagnates.” Snufkin stopped and turned to meet Moomin’s startled gaze. Behind him, the clouds parted, revealing a sun setting fiery orange and burning up the sky. “I realized that I’ve never thought about whether what I ask of </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> is fair or not.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” Moomin whispered. He searched Snufkin’s eyes for answers, but their darkness only reflected his own questions back at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean that I’ve only been thinking about myself. I thought I was sacrificing so much by spending the warm part of the year in Moominvalley. I thought you were being selfish, trying to get me to give up my nature and stay here. But no one can </span>
  <em>
    <span>make</span>
  </em>
  <span> you do anything.” He looked away at last, down to the line of white foam left behind by the receding tide. “I choose to spend most of the year here. It’s not a sacrifice. The only one who’s sacrificing anything is you, every time you watch me walk away from here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At this, Moomin suddenly found his voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not true!” he cried, reaching out to grip Snufkin’s sleeve. “You’re a wanderer, Snufkin. It’s just who you are. It’s wrong of me, to try and get you to give that up. I should be more grateful that you choose to spend time here at all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Moomin, you don’t need to—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I do.” Moomin interjected. “I didn’t ask you to stay because I’m angry that you’re leaving. It’s because I love it so much when you’re here, I just want it to go on forever.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snufkin abruptly jerked his head down so the brim of his hat hid his face. “I know,” he said softly. “I do, too. And it does, in a way. Forever isn’t linear. It ends in the autumn, and starts again in the spring.” He lifted his face. His eyes were serious, but his lips were curved up in a small smile. “I come back every year. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> forever.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin sprang forward and embraced him tightly. It was only for a second, and he just as quickly pulled back, his face warm. Snufkin looked startled, reaching up to adjust his hat, before his smile returned full force.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See what I mean?” Snufkin said as they resumed their walk. “It was a lucky day indeed when the Fates sent me your way, Moomin.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>“Are you sure I can’t convince you to take just a</span>
  <em>
    <span> little</span>
  </em>
  <span> more food, Snufkin?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moominmama bustled about the kitchen, searching out tins of sardines and sacks of rice and cans of dried tomatoes. An aluminum pot boiled on the stove to sanitize it. Freshly smoked salmon was wrapped in paper and stacked in a pile on the counter. Vegetables were being dehydrated in the oven while Little My shelled nuts at the table so they wouldn’t take up so much room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you, Moominmama, but this is plenty.” Snufkin sat amongst a fortress of wheat sacks, helping her grind the berries into flour with the mortar and pestle in exchange for a pound of flour to take along. “I caught plenty of salmon. Got enough dried to last me into the south where there’ll be more to eat.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moominmama did not appear to hear him. “Let’s see, fish, flour, rice, dried vegetables, nuts, salt, coffee beans, tea… What else, what else… Oh! Syrup! Snufkin, you must let me pack you some maple syrup for pancakes, it’s also handy if you need a boost of energy…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I really don’t think I can carry anymore!” Snufkin said good-humoredly. “I don’t need syrup, Moominmama, I usually don’t eat breakfast anyway…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was definitely the wrong thing to say, for nothing horrified Moominmama more than the idea of skipping meals. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“No breakfast?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Goodness! Snufkin, you must keep up your strength! I’ll show you I fix a good quick meal of flour cakes…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin watched this exchange fondly from the kitchen table, his elbows resting on the table and a steaming cup of pine needle tea before him. It was amusing to see other people mothered, when he was so used to it himself, and Snufkin so clearly </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Well, he’d learn eventually that resisting Moominmama only led her to push harder. “Go along with it, Snufkin, or she’ll make you take the sink, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ever the good sport, Snufkin accepted a small bottle of maple syrup with the promise that he’d try to eat at least one small pancake in the mornings, but he winked at Moomin when he said it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was to leave the next day, an hour after sunup. Moomin wished he could leave later in the day, to give them time for coffee or a morning walk. But Snufkin disagreed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The longer I dawdle, Moomin, the harder it will be for me to leave. For both of us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a satisfactory answer, and a gratifying one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The very last evening was always the hardest. The days had grown cold; there was frost on the grass each morning, and a cold breeze each night. Snufkin set up his tent on the veranda to keep the canvas dry. He declined all offers of extra blankets or pillows, and slept only under his coat so he’d have less to pack away in the morning. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin sat up late with him on the porch, the two of them wrapped up in his old wool blanket that smelled of smoke and seaweed. The stars were tiny crystals in a black ice sky. Snufkin was telling him about constellations, and how they could be used to navigate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And that star there,” he said, pointing to the west, “is the first star to appear at night. It’s actually not a star at all, but a planet. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> one—” he pointed straight up, “—is Orion’s belt. See the three, in a line? They run east to west, so it’s easy enough to orient yourself under them. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin listened to the low hum of his voice, and felt his eyelids growing heavier. He didn’t even realize his head was resting on Snufkin’s shoulder until he heard him speak directly into his ear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you asleep?” Snufkin said, and Moomin jerked upright, his face heating. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, I— I guess I’m usually asleep by this time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snufkin smiled and patted Moomin’s paw. He got to his feet so the blanket slid off their shoulders. “Well, I’d say it’s high time we got off to bed, then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin scolded himself for opening his mouth. “Oh, alright.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snufkin held out his hand, which Moomin accepted, his face warm. Even when Moomin was on his feet, Snufkin didn’t let go. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well.” There was a note of finality in his voice, as well as something hopeful that Moomin couldn’t quite place. Snufkin only continued to gaze at him, their faces close, hand-in-paw, and Moomin suddenly understood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.” He stood frozen in place as Snufkin leaned forward and planted a soft, swift kiss on his forehead, right between his eyes. The world shrank to the front porch and all that was left was Moomin, Snufkin, and the beam of his smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m glad to call you my friend, Moomin.” He pulled his hand from Moomin’s and took a step back, towards his tent. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin’s throat was dry. Whatever he had planned to say in this moment— and he realized that he had been waiting for this moment his entire life— was caught in his throat, all the air pulled from his lungs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All he could manage was “Goodnight, Snufkin.” Then he turned and stumbled into the house. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin’s eyes snapped open at dawn. There was no adjustment period between sleep and wakefulness: He was dreaming, and then he was sitting up and looking towards the window. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sun was casting a dull orange glow across the eastern sky, the mountains silhouetted in its light. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He scrambled out from under his blankets and bolted for the stairs. He could see through the window on the front door that Snufkin’s tent was no longer there. He jumped the last few steps, skidded across the living room, and reached for the door—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The door opened. Moomin slowed down just enough to receive a bonk on his head, rather than a concussion. He tumbled backwards in a heap. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snufkin stood on the threshold, his hand still on the knob, looking down at Moomin in surprise. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you alright, Moomin?” He shut the door and extended his hand to haul Moomin to his feet. Moomin rubbed his forehead where the door had smacked him— ironically, the same place Snufkin had kissed him last night— and offered a breathless smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine, I was just worried you had left.” He glanced towards the kitchen. “Do you have time for some coffee, or—?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snufkin looked abashed. “I wouldn’t have left without seeing you, Moomin.” He considered for a moment, then shook his head. “I’ll have some on the trail, I don’t want to linger.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin remembered his words from the day before, that dawdling would make it harder for Snufkin to pull himself away, harder for Moomin to let him go. He nodded, if a little sadly, and followed Snufkin out the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snufkin’s tent was neatly packed away, the porch swept clean. He tightened his boots and slung his pack over his shoulders. “Walk me to the bridge, Moomin?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin nodded numbly. He had a thousand things he wanted to say, and the short walk to the bridge couldn’t possibly hold all of them. So he opted for silence. Snufkin did the same, the only sound being distant birds chirping and the crunch of frost under their feet. On the bridge Snufkin stopped, and turned around to face him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Moomin, I...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Snufkin—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They both stopped and looked at one another. Moomin wanted to commit his face to memory, the way he looked with the morning light on his features, his eyes and his lips, his hair dancing across his forehead in the breeze. Snufkin smiled gently, and the rest of the valley seemed to stop and take notice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I made a trip up to your room yesterday,” he said cryptically, to Moomin’s surprise. “I left something for you. As a promise that I’ll come back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin had told himself that he wouldn’t let Snufkin see him cry, but that was out of the question as soon as he met Snufkin’s gaze. Hot tears blurred his eyes and he wiped them stubbornly away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll be here,” Moomin said. “The first day of spring, right?” He was begging again, trying to pry promises from a creature whose nature was spontaneous and aloof. But Snufkin did not fault him for this. He smiled, and reached out to take Moomin’s paw. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I promise.” Snufkin squeezed his wrist, and Moomin believed him. “I’ll always be a wanderer, Moomin, and I don’t know where life will take me. But I know you’ll forever be a part of it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Forever ends in the autumn and starts again in the spring. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Moomin was beginning to understand what that meant. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snufkin stepped back, offered one last smile, and turned away. To the south. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin watched him walk away, the strange shabby boy who had become his other half. He couldn’t have all of Snufkin, he knew that. But he was grateful for the part that he had. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turned and made his way up the slope to Moominhouse, pausing on the porch steps, wanting to turn around and look. He forced himself not to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin remembered suddenly that Snufkin had left something in his room, and he hurried inside, finding the living room still empty and was grateful for it. He tiptoed up the stairs and slipped into his room, his eyes searching for something out of place. Nothing under his pillow, or his mattress; nothing on his bedside table or the windowsill; nothing on his desk or the floor. He frowned and turned in a circle, scanning the room, when his eyes fell on his dresser. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was something there. Resting beside the white shell Snufkin had given him was the carved pipe and the small canvas sack. Beneath them was a folded slip of paper. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin took the paper with shaking paws and opened it. A tiny bit of ash floated out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>If you wake up in the winter, use this and think of me.’</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked at the pipe on the dresser. The stem was carved of some dark-colored wood, long and slender with a flat bit. The bowl was stout and appeared to be made from a hollowed-out corn cob. It was well used, the inside blackened with soot, the bit dented from Snufkin’s teeth, but still in fine shape.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snufkin would never leave it behind. He’d lent it, not given it. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span> be coming back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moomin could sit through the meal of pine needles and mushrooms without complaint. He said </span>
  <em>
    <span>goodnight, see you in the spring</span>
  </em>
  <span> to Mama and Papa with a light heart. As he settled down to sleep, the pipe on his bedside table was the last thing he saw before he closed his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s coming back. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>...Later, when Moomin woke up on a frigid night in late January, he reached out in the dark and found the curved shape of the pipe. He sat on the windowsill and lit up, letting the hot smoke fill his lungs and spread down to the tips of his toes. Huddled there, where he had once tasted Snufkin’s lips on the bit of the very same pipe, he looked out over the frozen white landscape and felt warm.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Here it is, y'all. This was supposed to be a chill story about weed but it turned into a drama somehow. Hope you liked it! </p>
<p>Also I did a terrible Snufkin art but I mean if you want to see it, let me know and I'll post it here!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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